My Total Disaster
by rosso-bass
Summary: When a man displaying strange symptoms arrives in St. Vincent's Hospital, J.D. realizes he is carrying one of the deadliest diseases on Earth. The Hospital goes to total lockdown, and J.D. is stranded right in the middle of an epidemic nightmare.
1. Chapter 1: My Almost Normal Day

My Total Disaster

By rosso-bass

Chapter 1: My Almost Normal Day

**AN: I don't own **_**Scrubs **_**or any of the characters. That said, a few notes about this story. Like the TV show, this will be essentially outside looking in, except for J.D.'s narration and monologue, where he inputs his personal philosophies or emotional summaries of the events around him. These will be marked with Italics. I don't really foresee his fantasies coming into play, as they're a bit hard to write out. So, enjoy!**

_My new job as Residency Director at St. Vincent's Hospital was hard to adjust to at first. Not seeing the people I knew and loved more than once or twice a month had been a drastic change from a daily basis. But seeing Sam nearly every day, as well as coming home to Elliot had eased the change, and my new job made me feel like a plaaayaaa._

_As Residency Director, my patient responsibilities dropped, but I was making lot more money, on top of being able to teach young doctors more than I would as an attending. Overall, it worked perfectly, and I had no regrets._

J.D. walked in through the front door of St. Vincent's , grazing his hand over the top of his hair. Somehow, it seemed to clash with the medical coat and the business casual clothes he was now expected to wear, but he would never give up his hair. Ever.

"Morning Dr. Mantoots!" J.D. called, crouching in his walk and pointing the index fingers of both hands at him. Dr. Mantoots, Chief of Medicine, nodded his acknowledgment, put off by J.D.'s eccentricity.

J.D. walked through the hospital briskly, greeting nurses and doctors. He assigned cases to his residents, one of whom he'd named "43," as a reference to his likeness to a young George Bush. Sadly, there was no one with whom J.D. could exchange in child humor all day at this hospital. After dismissing his residents, he picked up a folder of his own, glancing over the chart.

His day went as usual, several patients, questions from his residents, overseeing interns, and a panicked call from Elliot. It was only a month until their wedding, and Elliot had driven everybody through the wall. Carla- and Turk- had considered changing their number, as had Kim, and Dr. Cox had even called J.D. to chew him out, saying the calls to Jordan had made her irritable, and as a result, made him miserable. Through the grapevine, J.D. had also heard that the Janitor was being followed and questioned. Hell, J.D. almost changed his number himself.

As the sun began to set, J.D. was anxious to get home. That was another perk that came with being the Residency Director, awesome hours. He picked up another chart, his last patient for the day, one who had come in only an hour ago. He glanced it over: Francis Jacobsen, Age 43, abdominal pain, diarrhea, allergic to penicillin, family history of heart disease and cancer. He passed his finger over the chart, finding the room number. 213B. He bounded up the stairs, seeing a horde of people waiting for the elevator.

In his six months at St. Vincent's he'd learned the layout fully, and he was automatically guided to room 213B. Francis, the only occupant in his room, sat in the furthest bed against the wall, fiddling with the bed remote. He was plump, and had jowls reminiscent of Richard Nixon. He had a hook nose and brown eyes. His hairline was receding, and what was left of it was streaked with gray.

Julie, one of the nurses for the second floor, held up a syringe, examining the blood she had just drawn.

"Hey, Dr. Dorian," she said cheerfully, her platinum blonde hair bouncing as she giggled and tilted her head, the syringe still in her hands.

_Hello delicious._

"Hey Julie," he responded.

"Just off to get this tested," she waited for approval.

"Yeah," he replied distractedly. She huffed and walked out of the room. J.D. stood beside the man's bed, checking over the chart. When he was done, he turned to Francis.

"Hello, Mr. Jacobsen!" J.D. said, smiling his best. Francis nodded, smiling.

"Hello, Dr.?"

"Dorian, Dr. Dorian."

"Nice to meet you son."

"And you sir, and you. So, got some abdominal pain?"

"Yes, and some diarrhea. I expect the two go hand in hand."

"I'm going to take your temperature here," J.D. said. He fished out an electronic reader from the cabinet above and placed a new cap on it. He inserted it in Francis' ear, clicking the button. When it beeped, he pulled it out.

"Hoo! 100.2. Pretty high fever." It showed, beads of sweat had drown on the man's forehead and neck. J.D. took his blood pressure, and he was a little low, though it was not in his history.

"I'm going to take a look at your breathing. Could you lean forward Mr. Jacobsen?"

"Sure," he said. He leaned up out of the chair. Through his medical gown, there was a reddish smattering of dots near the base of his neck. Macropapular rash.

"Had any transplants lately sir?" He looked over his chart again. "Doesn't say so on my chart."

"No, I haven't. Never had." He noted the rash on his chart and moved along, checking the man's breathing. He pulled the stethoscope out of his ears, crossing his hands at his waist.

"Sounds a little murky," he said. "Been vomiting lately? Any nausea?"

"Been a little nauseas, but no vomiting."

"Hmm, well, right now, it looks a bad case of the flu. We'll wait for the blood results, and I'll be right back to you, ok?"

"Sure,- wait, Dr. Dorian?" J.D. turned in the door, looking at the man.

"There's something else." J.D. moved to the man's bedside again.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Well, I've been in the Congo for the past year. I'm a priest and we have an aid mission there. I checked through with medical security and everything, but I thought that might be relevant."

"When did you get back?"

"Five days ago," he said.

"Well, this may just be some traveler's sickness then. It can happen when you're adjusting to new climate or water quality."

"Oh, drank only bottled water."

"Alright well- are you ok Mr. Jacobsen?" The man had put a hand to his chest and put his head down, as if burping. Francis put a hand out to assure J.D., but seconds later leaned over the edge of the bed, vomiting some very bloody bile onto J.D.'s shoes as bloody diarrhea exploded from behind him.

"Jesus!" J.D. yelled, and a nurse from outside the hall rushed in.

"Doctor?" she asked.

"Get me an IV and a heart monitor!" She disappeared. Francis sat back up on the bed.

"Oh, oh, what's happening to me?" he asked. Blood was dripping out of his nose. Something clicked in J.D.'s head. He might be paranoid but… he ran to the phone on the other side of the room. The nurse returned.

"Don't come in here!" he yelled. She stopped halfway through the door. He dialed the Chief's phone.

"Dr. Mantoots residence," the voice said on the other line.

"Dr. Mantoots!" J.D. said excitedly. "Sir I-"

"Dr. Dorian, please, I'm having dinner."

"Sir, I need you to authorize a hospital lockdown, call some uh- Bioterrorist guys or something!"

"Dr. Dorian, if this is a joke, I do not appre-"

"Do it now, goddammit! If I'm wrong you can fire me later!"


	2. Chapter 2: My Terrible Luck

My Total Disaster

By rosso-bass

Chapter 2: My Terrible Luck

**AN: I'm not entirely sure of what kind of protocol an epidemic response team would take, so bear with me. Thanks for my first reviews!**

_Sometimes, especially in a hospital, you learn things that you wish you never learned, but you can't imagine what might have happened if you didn't. Like learning that a kid had leukemia, or that your newest patient had contracted Ebola. In the end, you just wish that the discovery had happened to someone else. But luck isn't always on your side. And today, it wasn't. _

"Just toss those to me, Mallorie," J.D. said to the nurse still in the door. She stood in place, staring at the man in the bed in horror.

"Mallorie!" Her eyes, spread wide enough to be perfect circles, turned to J.D.

"What's going on, Dr. Dorian?" she asked quietly.

"Just toss those to me and close the door."

"Tell me what's going on!"

"Just give me the damn bag and get the hell out of here!" Sirens blared outside and she quickly through the IV fluids at him. He caught them and she slammed the door shut. J.D. rushed to Francis' bedside and with shaky hands, administered the drip.

"Can you move me to a different bed, the old man mumbled wearily, still lying in his own bloody filth.

_Guess I'm already neck deep in this one._

"Sure, here, stand up. Could you pee in this cup real quick?" He took the man's drinking cup, tossing the water out on the floor. Francis turned to the wall and urinated in it. It was very dark, brown and gold.

"Ok, alright, this bed over here," J.D. guided the man, careful to touch his clothes where none of the blood had touched. A useless precaution, he knew, but one that brought him some small comfort in the terror that threatened to overwhelm him.

The phone rang as J.D. situated the I.V. drip at the side of the bed. He jumped over to it and picked it up.

"Hello?" he said, panic in his voice.

"Dr. Jonathan Dorian?" A male voice asked.

"Yes, speaking!"

"This is Colonel Joseph Barges with the United States Army, we wanted to verify that you are in the hospital."

"Yes! I'm in room 213B with the patient."

"The patient?"

"Yeah, the patient I'm treating who made me call Dr. Mantoots."

_Haha, Mantoots._

"What seems to be the situation doctor?"

"I believe my patient has presented symptoms of Ebola," J.D. said.

"Ebola?!" Francis screamed behind him.

_Crap._ _So much for not starting a panic. _There was a silence on the other line.

"Have you confirmed?"

"No, but I've taken a urine sample that can be tested."

"Understood. We're on our way, doctor, try to keep calm."

Within a minute, the door burst open while people outside looked on dumbly, shouting ignored questions at the men in biological safe suits.

The man in front took a look at Mr. Jacobsen and turned to J.D.

"Where's that urine sample?"

"Here," J.D. said, and handed the cup to the man. The man took it and held a radio close to his face.

"Evacuate the test labs, I need a urine sample confirmed."

"Right away, Colonel."

"Dr. Dorian," the man said, his face looking far away behind his safe suit. "This is very important, has anyone else had contact with the patient?" J.D., though still in shock, wracked his brain. His stomach dropped when he realized that someone had.

"Julie, the nurse that got him set up. There have probably been others but that's the only one I know of."

"Last name?"

"Uh… Richards." The man brought the radio up to his face again.

"We need a PA announcement for a Nurse Julie Richards. Put her in isolation."

"Yessir," the radio replied.

"And get Dr. Jackson in here." Dr. Jackson, a black man in his late fifties, also in a safe suit, entered the room as the Colonel exited.

"Dr. Dorian," he said. "Please explain the patient's symptoms to me." He did.

"Well, I agree with your actions. Well done son. We'll get that urine sample confirmed, and I'll keep you updated."

"Dr. Jackson, I won't be leaving here, right?"

"I'm afraid not," he said sadly. "You'll be under quarantine until this blows over."

"I do have other patients, and my residents have all gone for the night."

"Your residents?"

"Yeah, I'm residency director here."

"When did the patient arrive, and have you had any contact with anybody else, including your residents, since you ran your initial check with the patient?"

"Mr. Jacobsen was admitted nearly an hour ago at-" J.D. checked his chart. "6:53 P.M. I haven't had any contact with my residents, but there was another nurse, Mallorie Callouette, but I had her stand outside the door and throw me an IV bag."

"Better get her quarantined too, just in case." He relayed the order through his own radio. "Sorry, Dr. Dorian, but you'll need to be quarantined too."

"All due respect sir, but we don't have enough doctors here to keep this place running. Can't you get one of those suits so I can continue?" Dr. Jackson pondered this.

"I suppose so," he answered finally. "Ebola's transmitted through the air and body fluids, so as long as you're sealed up, you can't spread it to your patients. I'll get one brought into you, but it'll have to be sanitized before you can leave the room." Dr. Jackson left, and J.D. caught a glimpse of a plastic-encased room outside the door. Minutes later, a suit was brought into him, and he was helped by a man in putting it on.

_As I was being helped with the suit, I couldn't help but be afraid. My primary concern had been, to my credit, the containment of the disease and the health of my patients. But now, I had definitely been exposed to the virus that, in some outbreaks, killed every person who contracted it. Elliot, Sam, Turk, Carla. It was obvious to me that I might never see them again, that I might die in the hospital. It had occurred to me that someday I would die in the very place I worked. But I never imagined it would be so soon. Being able to accept the reality of it all didn't help with the smothering fear._

_Why couldn't somebody else have examined Mr. Jacobsen?_


	3. Chapter 3: My Nightmare

My Total Disaster

By rosso-bass

Chapter 3: My Nightmare

**AN: Thanks for the reviews guys! I've been away to visit my sister in a distant land, but I'm back. And also, be patient! Our other characters are going to be getting some page time soon!**

Day 5 of Hospital Quarantine

_After a long enough time in being right in the middle of a crisis, you'd expect yourself to adapt. And in a way you do. You learn to manage the fear you're having, but you're constantly attacked by even more fears, and you have to adapt to those. Long story short, it doesn't get much easier, especially when you know that there may be a biological time-bomb ticking away in your guts._

_I hadn't had any contact with anybody outside the hospital, as for some reason or another, the response team had shut down the outgoing phone lines. Undoubtedly, Elliot had learned what had happened and was freaking out, which would lead to Carla finding out, which would lead to Turk finding out. Hopefully, the chain stopped there, but it was possible that Turk was freaking out more than any of us. _

_As for myself, I tried to keep the worst out of my mind, and held out hope. But that stopped when Leo, St. Vincent's lead chef, sneezed contaminated snot into the last batch of mashed potatoes, and decided not to tell anybody. _

Managing patients had become difficult for J.D. when always encumbered by his bio-safe suit. While Mr. Jacobsen, though worsening, was still stable, other patients in the ICU particularly coded and it fell to him as the most experienced doctor still in the hospital to manage this. The other staff were continually wary of him, and he had to explain several times a day that the suit would prevent the virus from spreading from him to others, if he had even contracted it.

It sometimes amazed him how quickly a hospital could run out of supplies, but he was unable to appreciate the irony today. He was the de facto chief of medicine in Mantoot's absence, and the dwindling supply of medicines, coupled with an exhausted, terrified, and outnumbered staff, served to place more than a few gray hairs on his head. He had passed his concerns on to Dr. Jackson, who simply responded that they were attempting to remedy the situation, a vague assurance that held no weight.

After four full days of being awake, interrupted only by a handful of powernaps, J.D. realized he was likely becoming a danger to his patients, not to mention the other doctors and nurses. Luckily, the surgeons trapped in the hospital had not been particularly overburdened, as emergency cases had been redirected to nearby hospitals. They often did nothing, however, to throw in a helping hand with the nightmare in the internal medicine department.

So far, luckily, no one besides Mr. Jacobsen had shown symptoms of the deadly Ebola Zaire, including J.D. When Mr. Jacobsen died-

_Don't think like that!_

-and none of the others showed any symptoms for 30 days, which would ensure the death of the virus in the area, they would all get to go home.

A pulsing beep pulled J.D. out of his snooze while he leaned against the wall, and he looked down to the beeper clipped to a zipper on the suit. A minute later, he met Dr. Jackson, also clad in his safe suit.

"You go get some rest, Dr. Dorian," Dr. Jackson said sympathetically. "Even behind that mask, you look like hell. Kinda like the shaggy dog."

_Oh nooooo, my hair!_

J.D. calmed his shrieking inner monologue and gave Dr. Jackson one of the sincerest thanks he'd ever given.

"Oh," and Dr. Jackson said, stopping him. "Remember to sleep in the Quarantined call room on the second floor. I still wouldn't take that suit off if I were you." J.D. nodded without turning around and kept walking. He heard another beep behind him, and a hesitant voice.

"Uh… Dr. Dorian?" It was the bad news voice. J.D.'s inner monologue urged him to run before he could be stopped, but he couldn't budge himself. He turned around, irritated but prepared for the worst. Dr. Jackson looked up from his beeper with wide eyes.

_Crap…_

"We've got another one," Dr. Jackson said. J.D.'s heart leapt while his stomach sank.

"What? Who?" He said hurriedly, rushing over to Dr. Jackson to look at his beeper.

"Oh no," J.D. said aloud. "Not him."

"What's wrong?" Dr. Jackson asked, his composed demeanor dropping away.

"He's the cook." Dr. Jackson's hand leapt to his radio.

"Evacuate all unsealed food from the cafeteria! Anybody who's eating, quarantine them now!"

Suddenly, the hopeful outcome J.D. had envisioned, vanished. From the message of a single beeper, the virus that looked to be contained had possibly exploded into the entire hospital.

"Dr. Jackson," J.D. said quietly. "We don't have enough rooms to quarantine everybody individually."

"I know that," he said, bending over and putting his hands on his knees. "We'll do what we can, but some people will have to be quarantined together. When one shows symptoms, we'll jump to a room with others who have been infected."

"What?!" J.D. shouted. The few personnel walking about stopped and looked at the pair. "That's insane! If-"

"Please, keep your voice low, Dr-"

"If you put them together, it won't matter if you pick one of them out when they show symptoms, you'll have a room full of dead people anyway!" The people about them began to chatter, and it was clear everybody was on the verge of panic.

"Don't worry, people," Dr. Jackson said to the people in the hallway, placing his hands out as if physically steadying them. "We're simply discussing protocol should more complications arise." They stared warily, and Dr. Jackson's eyes turned to J.D., silently scolding him for his outburst. J.D. nodded, understandingly. He had to keep it together, not just for his own sake.

"Now," Dr. Jackson said steadily. "Go check on our patient and you can hit the sack." J.D. nodded wearily, his head swimming. His feet carried him automatically to the quarantine room being set up. The safe suit men waved him through, and he entered the room.

Leo, a burly man with a handlebar moustache, had tattoos snaking down his arms and up his neck. A confederate flag had been fashioned into a bandana on his head. Leo looked like a man who would only end up in a hospital bed if he crashed during a motorcycle rally.

Dried blood hung in his nostrils, and sweat had beaded on his forehead. He was awake, but his dark eyes were nearly closed. He regarded J.D. with a dazed stare.

"How ya doin'?" he said weakly.

"Hey, Leo," J.D. said as cheerfully as he could muster. "I have to ask you a couple questions." He realized then he'd forgotten to find a chart or a clipboard. Most likely, nobody had ever printed one out.

"Sure." Leo said. J.D. stood by his bedside and also realized he could not measure his breathing. He took a temperature reading, which hung at 101. J.D. tried to hide the worry on his face, but it seemed Leo was in no condition to notice anyway.

"How long have you been feeling off, Leo?" J.D. asked.

"Just yesterday. Felt a little grimy, I guess." Grimy, hard to decipher that one.

"Why didn't you tell anybody?"

"Well, it's always hot in the kitchen, I just figured it was that."

"What else have you been feeling?"

"Nothing. Just hot. Tired too. Then today, I was crapping blood. I flipped." He was already hemorrhaging. He didn't know when Mr. Jacobsen had picked up the disease, but J.D. had read the general incubation period of Ebola was five days. And he hadn't heard of it progressing so fast, ever.

"Have you had any contact with the food in the cafeteria?" J.D. asked.

"'Course. I'm the cook."

"Have any bodily fluids made it into the food?" Leo remained silent, his graying eyebrows dropping down over his eyes.

"Leo?" Silence.

"Leo, this is very important."

"Yeah…" he conceded finally. "I sneezed into the potatoes this morning."

"And you served them?" Leo's head sank into his chest.

"Am I going to hell?" he asked. It seemed a juvenile question, but Leo's hands were shaking, and he stared sadly into his own lap.

"Leo, did you serve the potatoes?" there was a long pause. And then-

"Yeah. I served them." J.D.'s heart sank. He didn't even know what to do with the information, except pass it along. He walked over to the wall, wishing there was a window there. He relayed the information through the radio.

"Understood," a voice said in response.

J.D. sat at the wall a moment, allowing his head to rest against the wall. His fatigue clouded his mind, but even if it hadn't, he didn't know if his mind could cope with the enormity of the situation. His best actions, the best actions of the best of the country hadn't been enough. It would be a miracle if nobody died before this nightmare was over.

After another moment, J.D. returned to Leo's bedside. He unhooked the urine bag hanging on the stand and replaced it with a new one.

"Need a urine sample confirmed," he said into the radio. He was not panicking anymore. His fears had been realized, and yet he was calm. Overwhelmed, but calm.

He passed the urine bag through the cracked door to a gloved hand.

"I'm coming out," J.D. said.

"Sure thing," somebody responded. J.D. walked back to the counter where he'd left the radio. He didn't look at Leo. He was not mad at Leo, wasn't disgusted, ashamed or disappointed, but he needed some time alone.

"I'll be back in the morning, Leo," J.D. said as he passed.

"Don't leave," Leo said weakly. J.D. stopped and turned to him. Leo, tough as seemed, looked pathetic. His thick hand was lifted up, stretched towards J.D., and a pair of tears rolled over and off his face.

"Please," Leo said, his hand still hovering. Self-preservation gripped J.D.'s emotions, and honestly, he didn't care a whole lot how Leo felt at this particular moment. He turned to leave.

"I'm scared," Leo said, his voice thick. It was something Leo probably hadn't said since he hit puberty. He began to sob quietly, pulling back his hands into his chest. J.D. wanted so bad to leave, to just go to the call room and collapse. He needed it more than he ever had during medical school or his internship. But his conscience, the one he sometimes cursed, stabbed him repeatedly in the heart. J.D. turned back and pulled up a chair next to Leo, who cried, sputtering thank-you's. He reached out before J.D. could object and grabbed his hand. J.D.'s hand was limp for a moment, but he squeezed reassuringly.

_Throughout my career, I'd always struggled to find that one great moment that defined me as a doctor. Usually, I'd looked to the moments where I made an impressive diagnosis or I brought somebody back from the dead. But in this moment, I realized that all of these things didn't speak about me as a doctor. No matter how much somebody else will try to convince you, and no matter how much a person becomes convinced themselves, being a doctor is never about you. The very nature of the profession contradicts being self-centered. _

_So, as I held Leo's man-hand, I saw this one moment as that moment that defined me as a doctor, the one I'd been trying to find for almost a decade. I threw away my own concerns and I gave myself to the patient, no- the person. And maybe that's what Dr. Cox had been trying to teach me all along. Maybe I'd never found out. Regardless, my moment wasn't a prideful one, but it was peaceful one. _


	4. Chapter 4: My Labyrinth

My Total Disaster

By rosso-bass

Chapter 4: My Labyrinth

**AN: Again, thanks for the continued reviews guys! And I'm not a doctor, so be forgiving if you notice things that wouldn't really happen.**

Day 7 of Hospital Quarantine

_I'd only been to jail once in my life, when I glued… replicas of male genitalia to a police squad car. And even then, it hadn't been so bad because Turk had been right there on the bench next to me. That memory had come to mind a couple times over the past few days, and it didn't take me long to figure out why._

_I was in a prison. Sure, I hadn't been there long, but it was like being locked in with some hungry, ruthless monster. Something else came to mind, a myth I heard in some class during my undergrad, where some Greek guy went into a labyrinth. Somewhere in the labyrinth, there was a minotaur, big guy that was half bull and half man. Why anyone would choose to go in there, I'd forgotten, but I doubt I'd ever understand. Anyway, to make sure he wasn't lost in there forever, the guy unraveled a ball of string which led to the entrance. That guy's ball of string led him out. Mine didn't._

Had he really just slept? Yes, he had. It was only for five hours, but even as he was shaken out of sleep, he smiled at his small victory. Even in his safe suit, which he could never remove unless he was in an already contaminated room, he could sleep like a rock after a week of continuous sleep depravation. Sleep had been impossible to find the entire week, especially for the guy running the hospital. Furthermore, they were still waiting on a shipment of food and medical supplies, and Colonel Barges had placed everyone on meager rations. Even the patients were going a little hungry.

However, there was no such thing as rationing medical supplies, and simple necessities like penicillin and morphine were dwindling. The Colonel had repeatedly dodged J.D.'s questions as to why it was taking so long to deliver the supplies, and he was at a loss at to what could be more important.

"Dr. Dorian," somebody said through his sleepy fog. He groaned and flipped over on his back. He struggled against his rebellious eyelids to open his eyes.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Your beeper's been going off! We've got a problem with the Jacobsen guy!" J.D. was awake and on his feet. A young intern who had been unfortunate enough to get stuck in the hospital was looking at him pleadingly.

"Well come on," J.D. snapped impatiently. "Out with it!"

"He's got a perforation of the small intestine. Dr. Dorian… he's going septic." J.D. ran to the phone outside in the hall and rang the surgery ward. There was no answer. He tried again. A weary voice responded on the other end.

"This is Dr. Grant," he responded.

"Simon!" J.D. said excitedly. "Who's in charge?" A groan on the other end.

"Yours truly."

"I need a surgery team to 213B, now!"

"Isn't that the Ebola guy? No, uh-uh."

"Shut up Simon! He's going to die!" Dr. Grant groaned again.

"Alright, make sure I've got three safe suits set aside for my boys when I get up there." J.D. hung up the phone and grabbed the radio at his waist.

"Dr. Jackson?" he asked hopefully. He waited a few seconds.

"Little busy here, Dr. Dorian," Dr. Jackson responded. "Trying to stabilize Mr. Jacobsen."

"Good! I've got a surgery team on the way, I need some safe suits for them so they can come in!"

"Good, I'll tell the Colonel. Come quick. Bring an epi." J.D. sprinted towards the medical closet, picked up one of the three remaining pens of epinephrine, and sprinted to room at the end of the hall, nearly knocking over a person in a safe suit on the way. The two at the front of the plastic sterile chamber opened the flap and let him in. He opened the door slightly and squeezed in.

Mr. Jacobsen's heart monitor was beeping in panic, and Dr. Jackson was standing over him, inserting a ventilator tube. J.D. rushed to his side, eager to help. Mr. Jacobsen was a mess. He was extremely jaundiced, and bruises all over his body indicated failing organs. His eyelids were black; he looked as if he was already in the casket.

"Alright," Dr. Jackson instructed. "I'll ventilate. He's going to go into cardiac arrest in just a minute. Be ready to deliver that epi." J.D. moved to the other side, taking the alternate delivery tube in his left hand, the epinephrine in his right.

"His heart's too weak to use the defibs," Dr. Jackson announced calmly. "So that epi's our best shot. Be ready." The heart monitor flatlined. J.D. stuck the pen in the alternate tube and waited several seconds before depressing the syringe. Within a second, Mr. Jacobsen's heart rate jumped back up, and, incredibly, stabilized. Dr. Jackson continued pumping the ventilator until his O2 stats were acceptable.

The surgery team came in behind them, pushing a table full of tools.

"Alright, let's cut this guy up," Dr. Grant said. He wasn't the chief of surgery, but it was a stroke of luck- at least for the patients- that he had been one to get stranded in the hospital. He had only been passed up for the Chief of Surgery because of a long-running feud with the board. Dr. Jackson and J.D. exchanged looks over Mr. Jacobsen. It would be a miracle if he survived the surgery.

"Alright," Dr. Grant said as one of the others swabbed his swollen abdomen with iodine. "Intestinal perforation, correct?" Dr. Jackson nodded.

"Midsection of the jejunum."

"Cool."

"Alright, I could use you boys' help, if you don't mind," Dr. Grant said to the two doctors. "Just in case we need to disappoint the guy upstairs today. But stand back." J.D. and Dr. Jackson moved back while two surgeons took their places.

"Alright, got the anesthetic administered?"

"Got it, Dr. Grant."

"Alright, making initial incision…" He lowered his knife to Mr. Jacobsen's skin and pulled downwards carefully.

"Uhhh!" All of them groaned. Instead of releasing the slight trickle of blood that accompanied the first incision, a mix of blood and caramel puss bubbled out of the cut, smearing across Mr. Jacobsen's stomach.

"Suction," Dr. Grant said. The grimy fluid travelled up a tube held by the surgeon on the left, and Dr. Grant continued cutting. "Hold these back boys." The surgeons moved to grasp the flaps of skin Dr. Grant had cut, peeling it away to reveal his innards.

"Jesus Christ," Dr. Grant said grimly. "This guy's a mess." He was. Blood and puss had pooled around his intestines, as well as a slight trickle of fecal matter from the perforation in his intestine. The rest of the intestine was in bad shape too. Tiny white spots speckled the length of his guts where the virus had been eating through. Dr. Grant shook his head.

"He hasn't got a chance," he said. He looked up to the heart monitor, which hovered safely. "He's sure holding on though. Let's stitch this up."

With a pair of tools in his deft hands, he carefully stitched the perforation and cut the end.

"Suction out what you can, Dr. Raymond, but careful you don't poke anything, we'll have another leak." The surgeon sucked out the fluids that had condensed in the cavity and turned off the suction.

"Let's close him up." The surgery lasted two hours, and Mr. Jacobsen, injured by his failing liver, was dropping again.

"Alright, he's all yours," Dr. Grant said.

"Thank you, Dr. Grant," J.D. said, and moved to Mr. Jacobsen's side. The surgical team left by one by one to be sterilized while J.D. injected some dobutamine, which doubled as a vasoconstrictor and an aid to reestablishing circulation.

When they were finished, something strange happened. J.D. and Dr. Jackson both laughed. Not an exhausted, sarcastic laugh, but a true, good-hearted laugh. They shook hands and each gave Mr. Jacobsen a light pat on the shoulders. They left one after the other to be sterilized and they silently parted ways to attend to other duties.

After another hour, J.D.'s adrenaline come-down left him exhausted and wishing for sleep again. As he went to the call room to take a nap, the intercom cracked on. J.D. turned, with his hand still on the doorknob.

"Patients and staff," Colonel Barges said over the intercom. "We have a special announcement for you." J.D. knew it wasn't a release of the quarantine, no way. But the others milling about looked up to the speakers hopefully.

"President Barack Obama has released a message to you all. I'll play it now." The hopes of the people in the hospital seemed to falter, but they remained curious.

"My brothers and sisters of America," the President started. "This is a dark and frightening moment for all of us. Your wives, husband, children, and friends are experiencing one of the worst moments of their lives, and uncertainty clouds our hearts. But while we are afraid, we are also proud. Your bravery in the face of real danger and daunting odds stands as a testament to your character, and you set a strong example for all Americans. We are waiting for you. We are waiting for you to come home. And I'll be waiting for you on the other side of those doors. God bless you." The intercom cracked off. J.D. didn't wait to see the others' reactions, he simply went into the call room and threw himself down on the bed.

_As I was waiting for sleep to come to me, I thought a bit about what I had heard. The President's address didn't help me much, but his last words did strike me. Outside of my labyrinth, outside of the hospital walls that had become a prison, there was a world waiting for me. _

_In just the week I had been here, the hospital had absorbed me, it had become the only world I knew. But there were people waiting for me. Turk, Carla, Kim, maybe Dr. Cox even. Elliot and Sam, they were waiting for me to come home. And maybe, if the beast roaming around my halls didn't find me first, I could follow my ball of string back home to them. _


	5. Chapter 5: My First Domino

My Total Disaster

By rosso-bass

Chapter 5: My First Domino

**AN: Thanks for the continued reviews guys, they're encouraging!**

Day 9 of Hospital Quarantine

_In a hospital, whenever you have a group of patients with a deadly disease, everything sits nicely until one of them goes down. And like a line of dominoes, when the first one topples, the rest seem to quickly spiral down. It's weird, it's uncomfortable, but it's certainly real. When that happens, the only thing you can hope for is to race ahead of the falling line, and stick your finger somewhere to stop the chain. Or you can make sure that first domino never falls down, of course._

J.D. groggily rolled out of bed, itching with sweat under his suit. God, what he would do for some fresh air, to be out of that stupid suit for a few minutes. Nevertheless, he'd gotten some real sleep, and miraculously, nobody had bothered him. Perhaps the whole hospital had gone to hell, and J.D. and Dr. Jackson were both asleep, unaware.

He stepped outside of the call room, and while the hospital had not suddenly been wiped out by an apocalyptic virus, the wandering staff looked dead anyway. They were hungry and tired, a bad combination. They moved like zombies, and the girls on the computers were typing at only a tiny fraction of their normally blinding speed.

"What time is it?" he asked one of the girls, moving towards the counter.

"I dunno," she shrugged. "There's a clock around here… somewhere." J.D. looked around, scanning the walls. Six A.M., a digital clock told him from above a supply station. He'd slept nearly 24 hours.

"Jeez," J.D. moaned. He was still beat, maybe he should go back to bed for an hour or so. He remembered Leo, and decided to at least check on him before he tried to hit the sack again.

He moved down the hall at a steady pace, seeming to scream past the other staff moving the speed of snails. He stopped in front of Leo's room, adjacent to Mr. Jacobsen's, and the lone safe-suited man opened the plastic flap for him. As he was about to enter, his pager beeped at him loudly.

"Oh, what now!" he moaned, and looked down to his belt.

"Oh, shit," he said. Mr. Jacobsen was coding again. J.D. turned back and sprinted to the medical cabinet. He threw the door open and jumped in.

"Uh… Epinephrine, and… dopamine." He said as he picked up a few syringes of each chemical. Abandoning the open closet, he bounced back to Mr. Jacobsen's room. The men in front opened the flap and he jumped into the room. An intern in a safe suit, Brooke something-or-other, was standing near to Mr. Jacobsen's bed, but her fists were clenched up to her chest.

"Ventilate! What are you doing?!" J.D. yelled as he rushed to the bed.

"I…I-"

"Shut up," he hissed in frustration. His fatherly attitude towards the interns had dissolved progressively in the last week. "Give me a tube." Brooke moved jerkily, like a robot, and picked up the package with the ventilation equipment, passing it to J.D. He quickly tore it open, passing the tube down Mr. Jacobsen's throat after brushing aside his oxygen feed which trailed into his nose. He snapped the rubber bladder into place and began pumping.

"Pump," he said to the intern. "Can you do that?" She didn't respond, but her hands came forward, gripping the bladder and squeezing it in well-rehearsed rhythm. J.D. injected the Dopamine to constrict the bleeding vessels in Mr. Jacobsen's body, and a minute later, he flatlined.

J.D. cursed. The intern moved to pick up the defibrillators.

"No!" J.D. shouted as he took over ventilation. "The walls of his heart are eroded, we might explode it! Here, ventilate!" She took over, and J.D. moved to the counter, injecting the epinephrine slowly. The heart monitor jumped twice, showing a pulse, but before J.D. could sigh in relief, he flatlined again.

"Goddammit! Mr. Jacobsen, stay with me!" He began pressing down on Mr. Jacobsen's ribcage, sure that pressured contractions would harm his heart less than a jolt of electricity. The line on the heart monitor refused to budge. Alright, now or never.

"Alright, defibrillators. Set to 200." The intern moved from the ventilator and pulled the cart beside the bed. She passed the paddles to J.D.

"Alright, perform compressions until I tell you 'clear', understood?" Brooke nodded, moving to push down on Mr. Jacobsen's chest. J.D. waited for her to push down three times.

"Clear," he said, and Brooke moved away as the pressed the paddles down on Mr. Jacobsen's chest. His body jumped, but his heart would not get up.

"Set to 700," J.D. instructed, and waited for Brooke to perform a few more compressions.

"Clear." The body jumped, but again, no dice.

"1400," J.D. instructed again. "This is it, Mr. Jacobsen. Clear."

Electricity pounded into Mr. Jacobsen's body, and his eyes shot wide open in surprise. J.D. pulled the ventilator out quickly as he began to gag. But something was off. The heart monitor was still screeching a single tone. His eyes turned slowly to the monitor as Mr. Jacobsen struggled to speak. The line was flat.

"I'm going son," he rasped. How he was speaking without oxygen, or even awake while, well… dead, was something completely beyond J.D. He had never seen or heard of anything like it. Mr. Jacobsen's hand shot up, grasping J.D.'s forearm. J.D's grip tightened.

"Hang in there!" J.D. said and moved to inject more epinephrine. But a strong grip stopped him.

"Let me die!" Mr. Jacobsen squeaked as if speaking with a parched throat. His eyes were wide and bloody, the expression on his face was horrific.

"I saved lives in- in Africa, but I can't- can't live with the guilt of taking them! Let me die! I- I-" He choked, and his head fell to the side, but his lips moved. _Sorry_, they said. The look was frozen on his face, the jaw slack, the bloody eyes opened wide. Subconsciously, J.D.'s hand moved out to close his eyes, though he knew rigor mortis would soon open them again regardless. He couldn't look at it anymore. The heart monitor screamed on, uninhibited.

"Time of death," J.D. said, unsure of what time to site. He looked at the clock, wondering if he should subtract a minute. "6:17." As the clock read. He looked up. The intern was stuck against the wall, her hands clenching the material of the suit in balled fists. She was as terrified as he was. After pulling the sheet up over Mr. Jacobsen's head and unhooking the blaring heart monitor, he moved to her.

"Come on," he said, gripping her gently by the shoulders. She jerked away from his touch, her brown eyes locked on the bed.

"Brooke," her eyes flicked to his. "Come on." He pulled her away from the wall and pushed her to the door, sending her out to be sterilized first. He took a last look at the motionless form under the sheet and stepped out.

As he was sprayed with disinfectant, his beeper rang again. Leo.

_When the first domino falls… well…_


	6. Chapter 6: My Fracturing Mind

My Total Disaster

By rosso-bass

Chapter 6: My Fracturing Mind

**AN: Can't tell you how grateful I am for the reviews! You'll notice J.D.'s inner monologue isn't very active right now, and it's not because I'm lazy. See if you can figure it out for yourself. ;) Also, PG-13 movies get to drop the f-bomb once, so I think a T fic is entitled to the same, just a warning.**

Day 9 of Hospital Quarantine – 11:00 P.M.

_I wonder what would happen if I just tried to run. Would they shoot me? Probably._

J.D. was panting. Mr. Jacobsen had died, and Leo had crashed- twice. He pumped Leo's burly chest steadily as Mr. Jackson readied the defibrillators, another patient that had fallen to the last resort.

"Clear!" Dr. Jackson said. J.D. pulled his hands away from Leo's chest as the paddles connected with his chest. His body jumped, but the heart monitor continued beeping in quick, frantic pulses.

"We need to get his heart under control!" Dr. Jackson gasped. "700!" J.D. adjusted the voltage on the defibrillators and returned to his compressions. He looked up desperately at Dr. Jackson, who's eyes remained fixed on Leo.

"Clear!" he said again. J.D. pulled his hands up and Leo jumped. The heart monitor emitted a single, dragging tone.

"Goddammit!" J.D. shouted.

"900! This is our last shot!" J.D. hurriedly adjusted the dial and pumped into Leo's chest. "Clear!"

The paddles hit Leo's chest, and his body jumped one more time. The heart monitor ceased it's screeching, emitting a faint, steady beep. He was stable. By God, he was stable. Dr. Jackson and J.D. both stepped backwards, away from the bed. Exhaustion, or exasperation, washed over J.D., and he crumpled back against the wall, leaning his head back.

"Well done, Dr. Dorian," Dr. Jackson said steadily.

"I think I'm losing it," J.D. said before he could stop himself. Dr. Jackson stopped midstride towards the door, turning his head slowly. He remained silent.

"Forget it," J.D. said dismissively. "Let's get the hell out of here." J.D. pulled himself from the wall and began the zombie walk he had seen so much lately. The phone on the wall rang. Dr. Jackson turned from the wall, picking up the receiver.

"Dr. Jackson," he said. "Yes, hello Dr. Daniels." He was silent, listening. J.D. watched him intently, sure it was something important.

"Just today?" Dr. Jackson asked.

"Alright, you know what to do. Thank you for informing me… yep… goodbye." He clicked down the receiver and turned to J.D., holding his palms upwards in surrender. Rage boiled up in J.D. chest, his fists began to shake.

"What." J.D. said, closing his eyes, waiting for it, he knew what Dr. Jackson was going to say before he said it.

"We've got three more. Another two showing symptoms." He spoke carefully, seeing J.D. on the edge. It wasn't enough. J.D. finally snapped.

Losing control, unconscious of what he was doing, he grabbed the nearest object, a leather-padded stool. He swung it around him and hurled it into the wall behind him. It bounced off harmlessly, but J.D.'s fists were against the wall, punching. Somewhere, pain begged him to stop, but his fists pumped of their own accord, crushing through the wall. Suddenly, his head was crashing into the wall too, over and over, digging its own hole.

"Dr. Dorian! You're a doctor! Cut this shit out NOW!" J.D. whirled on him, his fingers and wrists burning.

"Well that's just fucking great isn't it?!" he screamed. "_I'm_ the doctor! _I _have to keep it together! I didn't ask for this shit! Everybody else is losing their goddamned mind, why can't I?!" He swung his back behind him, and it created another satisfying dent in the wall.

"Dr. Dorian," Dr. Jackson pleaded. "I know this is-"

"You don't know a goddamn thing! Shut the hell up! Shut the hell UP! You volunteered for this, you've been in a suit the whole time, and I've already bathed in a dying guy's vomit and blood, what the hell do you know!"

"Dr. Dorian, take a deep breath."

_I wonder if they'd shoot me._

He realized he didn't care. He moved towards the door, throwing off Dr. Jackson's attempt to grab him. He threw it open and blasted through the sterile chamber at a sprint, his mind long gone. He didn't even realize he was down when suited bodies had tackled him to the tile midway through the hall.

His hands pedaled on the slick floor as screams and frightened shouts coursed somewhere outside of his body. Maybe they were his own, he didn't know. He didn't care. He just didn't care anymore.

A painful prick connected with his shoulder as somebody threw their weight on top of his arm, doing their best to hold it steady. As tranquilizer coursed through his body, and his crazed state began to dissolve into black oblivion, a statement pulsed in J.D.'s fracturing mind.

_Just let me out. Please, just let me out._


	7. Chapter 7: My Few Brave Souls

My Total Disaster

By rosso-bass

Chapter 7: My Few Brave Souls

**AN: A double-update because the last one was short. I hope this chapter isn't too much.**

Day 10 of Hospital Quarantine.

_J.D. had heard it said that a person didn't dream when tranquilized. Maybe it was just specific to certain chemicals, but he certainly dreamed. And it was terrifying. _

_He was in the ocean, far out to sea. There was no land on the horizon in any direction, but there was a boat, not far from where he fought to keep his head above water. His legs and hands kicked, but centimeter by centimeter, he slipped beneath the surface. And inch by inch, the little fishing boat moved further away, ignoring his screams for help. It was hard to breath behind the helmet of his safe suit, and the suit was filling with water, further dragging him down. He looked down, and far beneath his flailing feet, something giant and yellow circled about, creating a trail of bubbles in its wake. _

_He looked back up desperately to call again to the boat, but it was gone, nowhere in sight. Pain constricted his legs, and he looked down. Muscled tentacles had wrapped around his legs, and gnashing teeth waited to devour him. He looked back up, pushing with his arms. And the boat was back, only a few meters away. On the back of the boat, a lanky man with spruced hair and blue scrubs regarded him thoughtfully, hands pressed into his pockets. _

_"Help me!" J.D. screamed to the man on the boat as the water rushed in over his head, and water poured into his lungs. _

_J.D. watched from the boat as the man was sucked under water, his hands reaching into the air and swinging wildly before they too disappeared. _

_"Dr. Dorian," someone said behind him. He turned._

"Just a bad dream," Dr. Jackson said as J.D. panted, running his hands over the safe suit that still encased him. "I can only imagine."

"What… how did I get here?" he asked, bewildered.

"You freaked out," Dr. Jackson said with compassionate eyes. "We had to tranq you so you didn't try to escape the hospital. Sorry."

"That's… oh my god. Leo, is he-"

"Leo's fine. Stable since last night." J.D. let his head drop into his chest, remembering his outburst from a detached angle.

"So…" J.D. started, shame evident in his voice. "I guess we ought to talk about what we do with me, huh?"

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Dr. Jackson said, patting J.D. on the shoulder. J.D. looked at him disbelievingly. Dr. Jackson sighed. "Look, I know what's it like. This isn't my first ride on this particular merry-go-round. I had to deal with anthrax a couple years ago, and it's scary. You've done well so far. _But_, you are a doctor. Now that you've got this out of your system, do you think you can promise me this won't happen again?" J.D. bit his lip, not feeling worthy of much mercy.

"Yeah, I promise."

"Good. Besides, we've got some volunteer doctors coming in today. They should provide you with a little breathing room so you can get back up to speed. They're bringing a bunch of those supplies we've been holding out for too. I've got something else for you too, in a couple hours." J.D liked the sound of that. Dr. Jackson's radio clicked on.

"They're here," it said.

"Well, speak of the devil. Come on, if you're ok to walk." J.D. shakily put himself back on his feet and followed Dr. Jackson out of the call room. They walked to the emergency admittance sector, and they arrived just in time. A plastic flap on the other side of the glass doors, which obscured the view of the outside world, flew open, and half a dozen safe-suited figures strode through, pushing bulky carts of food and supplies.

They walked in step, almost in formation, and it was like seeing angels coming out of the sky. The pride of the Armored Cavalry couldn't have looked more heroic in that moment.

When they came close enough, J.D. recognized a pair of familiar blue eyes staring into his own.

"Oh my god!" J.D. screeched happily. A genuine smile smeared across his face, he'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

"Hey there, Newbie," Dr. Cox said, pulling his cart to a stop and standing in front of J.D.

"Dr. Cox!" J.D. gasped, his smile persevering. "But, what are you doing here?"

"Heard about your predicament. And apparently, this whole damn country is so filled with pansy-ass little girls, _like_ yourself, that they couldn't round up any volunteers. So, it falls to manly men, like _my_self, to come fix it." J.D. opened his arms, moving forward.

"Bup-bup," Dr. Cox said, stepping away. "Do _nawt_ make me regret this, Carol. Alrighty? Now, I heard about your little fiasco last night. Did I hear right?" J.D. nodded in shame. Before he could look up, a backhanded slap connected with his cheek, hardly deadened by the plastic material of his suit. It hurt, and he looked up at Dr. Cox with reproach.

"Come on Newbie! You're a doctor dammit! I am not your mentor, but I sure as hell trained you, and I sure as _hell_ trained you better than that. Have a little dignity, for god's sake. But uh…" He stuck his hand out, open palmed. The emotional and physical pain of the slap washed away when J.D. realized what Dr. Cox was offering him. But he couldn't let his guard down. Dr. Cox had pulled many a handshake away in their time together. Slowly, J.D. extended his hand, and clasped it to Dr. Cox's. He looked up, and saw the look of pride and respect that had been directed at him only a handful of times in their nine years of knowing each other.

"You've done good… J.D. And uh… you deserve this handshake." They released their hands, and fuzzy happiness clouded J.D.'s innards.

"And one more thing," Dr. Cox said, dropping his hand to his side. "You're the boss around here, got it? Don't let me down."

"Up high, Vanilla Bear?" an instantly recognized voice said.

"Brown Bear!" J.D. screamed and ran at the sound of the voice. He leaped into the air, and his best friend Turk, not missing a beat, instantly caught J.D. and lifted him into the air.

"Eeeeeaaaglllle!!!" J.D. screeched at the top of his lungs as his arms flew out to the side. When Turk let him down, they instantly began jabbering a long conversation of gibberish to each other, talking over each other but seemingly too excited to stop and hold a civil conversation.

"But Turk!" J.D. said to the brown man behind the mask. "What the hell are you doing here? What are you _both _doing here? Chief of Surgery and Chief of Medicine at another hospital?"

"It's all good J.D.! They can do without us for awhile. Todd's got my post temporarily, and Dr. Mickhead is filling in for Dr. Cox. They're gonna tear him apart. That's what I'm talkin' 'bout! Besides man… we couldn't leave you alone in here."

"Turk, I'm really grateful that you came to help, but what are you doing man? You've got a wife and kids. So does Dr. Cox. They're more important than I am." Turk span J.D. around, throwing an arm over J.D.'s shoulder as they began to walk.

"Listen man, I know for a fact that if this happened at Sacred Heart, you'd be over there before they could sound the alarm. And Carla knows how important you are to me, to both of us. I will never leave you behind, 'cuz that's how we do, right?" They turned to each other, looking into each other's eyes.

"I love you Turk," J.D. said, his voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too man," Turk replied with a nod, and they gripped each other in a fierce hug. Dr. Cox walked by after delivering the supplies, seeing the spectacle.

"Oh, for the love of god," he moaned, and walked on.

"You know Dr. Cox came for you too, right? That the 'coming to aid the crisis' junk is just an excuse?" Turk asked him as they released each other. J.D watched the tall doctor skulk away down the hall.

"Yeah," J.D. said with a grin. "I think I do." J.D.'s gut dropped sharply and his blood ran cold.

"Jesus, Turk, you didn't let Elliot come in here, did you?" J.D. asked quickly, gripping Turk by his admittedly bulky arms.

"_Hell _no, J.D.!" Turk responded with signature Turk-ness. "We knew you'd never forgive us! But Carla's doing her best to take care of her, you know." Sadness stabbed at J.D.'s heart.

"How is Elliot dealing with all of this?" J.D. asked solemnly, knowing the answer.

"I think you know. Let's not talk about it buddy. Carla's got it under control."

"Turk? Thank you." J.D. said, almost overcome with emotion.

"Don't mention it J.D. Now, we better get to work."

"Yeah."

"But hey man, I heard about last night. If this stuff gets to you… don't hesitate to talk to me. Even if I'm in surgery, a'ight?"

"Yeah, Turk. Thanks," J.D. said with a smile. They hugged each other again and parted ways to attend to the hospital.

"Feel better?" Dr. Jackson asked him a few minutes later.

"You have no idea."

"Good. Keep up the good work, son."

J.D. felt infinitely better, and he was able to attend to his patients, even the now Ebola-stricken ones, with cheer and radiant hope. A couple hours passed, and J.D.'s high never faltered. But he had forgotten what Dr. Jackson had told him, that he had something else for him. Eventually, his pager rang for him to meet Dr. Jackson in one of the few remaining empty patient rooms on the ground floor. He ran downstairs and Dr. Jackson met him at the door. Without a word, Dr. Jackson handed him a walkie-talkie, pointing him into the room.

J.D. walked in, seeing Turk facing out the window. Flood lights could be seen outside against the night sky, as well as circulating police lights. Turk turned, smiling brightly.

"Come here man, got something to show you," he said. J.D. walked to the window, and his legs nearly gave out. He placed a hand on the window to steady himself, and within seconds, on the other side, a hand came up, mirroring his through the glass.


	8. Chapter 8: My Rocks

My Total Disaster

By rosso-bass

Chapter 8: My Rocks

**AN: I've never gotten this kind of response for one of my stories, and I'm loving it. So thanks again! Also, I'm going to take a suggestion from EliH2, so I extend heartfelt thanks to her (him? Sorry) also. By the way, this chapter is in direct retribution to all the slash that makes it way on to this site. **

Day 10 of Hospital Quarantine – 9:00 P.M.

Words weren't enough, and J.D. didn't try and force them. Instead, he let the tears come. The hand on the other side of the glass aligned perfectly with his, and it was possibly the most intimate moment he had ever experienced in his life.

Tears forced their way out of his closed eyelids, and he looked up at her. Oh, Elliot. She was crying too, and it made her streaked make-up drip all over again. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, there was nothing else in the world. All the terror and strain of the past ten days was far away. It was patiently waiting for his return, he knew that, but it didn't matter right now.

They sat there for several minutes, staring and longing for each other as the tears continued to roll. It had been the first time J.D. had cried since the hospital lockdown, and he pleasantly noted that they were tears of joy. There was such a victory in that. And suddenly, he felt that everything would be alright. He would have called it irrational at any other moment, but he felt certain. Finally, he brought the radio up to his mouth.

"Elliot," he said, loving the sound of the name. "I really think everything's going to be okay." She pulled her hand from the window to take the walkie-talkie from her other hand, and that was when J.D. noticed Sam. Elliot had brought his son to see him.

"I think so too," she said simply. He stared another minute as his son and his wife-to-be. They were beautiful.

**/\**

Even in the deepness of the moment, Elliot couldn't help but notice the physical toll the stress had taken on J.D. He looked like hell. His eyes were dull, and black, terraced lines had appeared underneath his eyes. His hair, the hair he sculpted so carefully, hung down in a mess around his face. Under the shield of his safe-suit, his beard had grown wild and uncontrolled, and his skin had become deathly pale.

He looked like the caveman everybody thought extinct.

"I'm sorry I haven't been there with you. Both of you," he said. She smiled as best she could, but in truth, she had needed him. She had been a wreck the past ten days, and she hadn't been so much as able to talk to him.

She hadn't freaked at first, when she heard. She'd made commendable headway in controlling her neurotic episodes, and she employed her training for the first day. She had tried to call, but the lines to the hospital had been cut. And when the news announced that Ebola had been confirmed inside the hospital, she snapped. Carla was there before she could leave, as if she'd known the future all along, and she had caught Elliot before she hit the floor. When Carla saw the repeating news report, she cried with Elliot, and they sat there for an hour, crying together in the doorway.

But again, the news had caught their attention. There was commotion outside the hospital. The cameras centered on a man creating a spectacle, like he was some exciting zoo animal.

It was Turk, attempting to throw himself through the military perimeter. The camera showed Turk, still clothed in his green scrubs, clawing through the uniformed men and screaming for J.D. His face exhibited an expression of pure desperation and terror that neither Carla nor Elliot had ever seen him wear.

They cried more at Turk's pain, a tangible example of what they were all going through. Carla stayed the night, though Turk had never come by. She left in the morning while Elliot slept the sleep of the emotionally stricken, but she was back when her shift was over, this time with Turk. Everyone but Turk cried when they were together.

Elliot returned to work three days later, and she was greeted by a solemn nod by the janitor, as well as Dr. Cox, who had approached her, mumbled incoherently, and growled before leaving elsewhere. They were all feeling it, even the ones too proud to show it.

Kim had heard from Turk, and she left a message on J.D.'s home phone for Elliot to call if she needed help. There had been an outpour of support. But what did it matter? J.D. was still locked in a hospital with a patient with Ebola.

Nearly a week passed, and Elliot had reserved her crying for when she slept alone at home. And then, late at night, she received a call from Dr. Jackson. She picked the phone up quickly.

"Hello?" she asked cautiously.

"Elliot Reid? This is Dr. Jackson, I'm over at St. Vin-" She hung up, dropping the phone with horror. No, this couldn't be happening. She knew what was coming, J.D. had contracted the virus, or he was already dead. If she didn't hear the words, they couldn't be true. She dropped against the wall, sobbing and staring as the phone rang again and again.

Finally, she picked it up again as it rang a fifth time. She put the receiver at her ear, staying silent.

"Ms. Reid?" The same voice probed. She didn't answer.

"Ms. Reid, it's nothing particularly serious." She remained silent. Dr. Jackson sighed on the other line.

"Look, Dr. Dorian just had a bit of a freak out last night. This situation is getting to him, and well, we've got some volunteers coming in he might know from his previous hospital, but-"

"Who?" she asked, now eager.

"A… Perry Cox and Chris Turk, as well some other doctors in the state." Oh, thank God, but why hadn't they told her this already?

"Can I talk to him?" she asked timidly.

"I'm afraid not. We had to tranquilize him, and I'm on a military line." The shock at the magnitude of J.D.'s freak out was still overshadowed by her relief that he wasn't dead or dying.

"Alright," she said. "Thank you."

"Wait! Ms. Reid?" She reverted again to her silence, but she did not hang up.

"Ms. Reid, Dr. Dorian is-"

"His name is J.D." Dr. Jackson seemed put off for a moment before continuing.

"Uh, J.D. is basically what's keeping this hospital from going to hell. He's the highest post in the hospital, and everybody's looking to him. Basically, if he freaks out like this, we're going to have a problem. So, I think for him, I can get you past the perimeter to the outside of the hospital, where you can talk to him through a window. Would you be willing to do that?"

Elliot started crying again. The phrase "too good to be true" came to mind, but she realized the situation was still a far cry short of good.

"Yes- can I bring his son?"

"He's got a son? Didn't know the kid had it in him. Sure, bring his son too, if you think the son can handle it."

"Oh…" Elliot could barely speak. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," Dr. Jackson replied. "Stay strong. Buh-bye." The line went dead, and Elliot leafed through the digital phone's address book looking for Dr. Cox's personal number. He'd never once called the house using it, but J.D. kept it there, saying "He'll call one day." She smiled weakly at that. She found the number, labeled, Dr. Percival Mentor Cox.

It rang a few times before there was a tentative answer.

"Uh… yeah." Dr. Cox said cautiously.

"Dr. Cox," she said. "Bring J.D. home to me."

"Barbie, I know just how jittery you-"

"Bring him home to me." There was a silence on the other end.

"You know I can't promise that." She was quiet a moment. "But I'll do the best I can. I can promise that." It was the best she would get from him.

"Thank you… Perry." There was a growl on the other line and the line went dead. She placed the phone on the counter and crawled back to bed, thinking about J.D.'s outburst. She allowed her mind down a path she knew would result in tears, and she started to think about what J.D. must be going through.

**/\**

"J.D., we're getting married in two and a half weeks. That's… not going to happen, is it?" J.D. looked at her, holding back the tears he'd just beaten off.

"I'm still going to marry you, Elliot. Keep planning that wedding. But…" He had to say it. Above all, he knew Elliot just wanted a straight answer. "No, it's not going to be in two weeks." She nodded solemnly. She'd have to call all those people herself to tell them the wedding was off, and she'd probably be crying. He could only guess how many people would figure that he'd broken her heart or run off with some woman.

Still, he said, promising himself without putting it into words, he was going to get out of there and marry her, whatever it took.

"I'm going to let you talk to Carla for a minute," Elliot said. J.D. hadn't even noticed Carla was there. She was a striking contrast to Elliot, who was streaked with wet makeup and mounted with wild hair. Carla however, looked her best. Of course, she hadn't been the one under the most strain, though her husband was now in the same pit he was in.

"Hi, Bambi!" she said cheerfully, taking the walkie-talkie as Elliot bounced Sam. Turk had already departed. He had probably had his time with the two already.

"Hi, Carla," J.D. said, smiling anew.

"I'm sorry you're stuck in there, but you keep holding on, alright?"

"I'll do my best Carla, thanks."

"Mhmm, and look after my man in there, okay? He needs more looking after than you do!"

"Sure, will do. Thanks for coming out here Carla, it means a lot." Carla made a playful swat through the air.

"Of course, J.D., don't worry about that. But you better make it back to us, huh? We'll be waiting for you."

"I will."

"I just wanted to tell you we're thinking about you. I'll give you back to Elliot. Oh, and one more thing, tell my husband this, 'Si usted juega con las mujeres, tajaré apagado su pene!' Alright? Love you Bambi, take care of yourself."

"Love you too, Carla, bye." She handed the walkie-talkie back to Elliot as J.D. did his best to memorize the cute-sounding phrase Carla had passed on. Behind the two, a uniformed man walked forward and stopped behind them, clasping his hands in front of them. They both nodded.

"Looks, like I gotta go, J.D." Elliot said sadly. J.D. simply nodded in response. Elliot talked to Sam, pointing at the window. J.D. tapped the glass, succeeding in getting Sam to turn his head. His own blue eyes looked back at him, seeming to understand.

"I love you Sam," J.D. said, his throat tightening again. J.D. and his son stared at each other for a long moment, before Sam turned his face back up to Elliot.

"I love you, Elliot," J.D. said to her, and tears began to streak through her makeup all over again.

"I love you too J.D. Come home to me. I'll wait, as long as it takes." She switched off the walkie-talkie, and they touched hands again through the glass. They followed the uniformed man away, Elliot casting looks behind her as J.D. stood at the glass.

_As I watched Elliot and Sam go, I realized how much I truly love them. They, both of them, and Carla too, were my rocks, my immoveable shelters in the storm. In that moment, I found the love that only appeared in stories and fantasies. That love so pure that nothing again could ever dent it. My son, and my wife to be, they were everything. They had brought me back from the brink when I thought I had already fallen over it, and they would be my lifeline as I continued to ride out the worst the Ebola virus could dish out. When I made it out, I would show them every day how much they meant to me._

_They were everything. _


	9. Chapter 9: My Uh Oh

My Total Disaster

By rosso-bass

Chapter 9: My Uh-Oh

**AN: Thanks for the reviews guys! You're keeping me going strong!**

Day 10 of Hospital Quarantine – 10:13 P.M.

_After talking to Elliot and Sam, I felt incredible. Turk, Dr. Cox, Carla, Elliot, and Sam, they had rescued me, I knew that. The good mood wouldn't last, how could it? But at least for now, I felt that nothing could go wrong, and if it did, I could take it in stride. Bring it on Ebola, 'cause the J-Dizzle is back in the hizouse!_

"Dude, Turk," J.D. said after returning to the second floor.

"What's up buddy?" Turk asked, glancing over a chart. "Feel better?"

"Oh yeah," J.D. replied, leaning on a counter. "Like, that's what I needed man. You guys… man." Turk clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well, you know why Dr. Jackson pulled it through right?" Dr. Jackson had done that for him? He was getting a basket of J.D.'s favorite lotions when this was all over. "So you could do your job. He did a nice thing, yeah, but you're the hero figure to these people. Their hero can't go down, or they all go down." J.D. nodded in disbelief. He hadn't realized at all that he was any sort of rallying point for the hospital staff. If it was true, at least he had the emotional capacity to fill his role now.

"Alright dude," Turk said, flipping the file closed. "Gotta take a patient into surgery, she's been holding out a long time, so we need to get it done."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks again man. Oh! Carla told me to pass something on to you. Um…" He racked his brain as the words came into place. Turk waited with an expectant smile.

"Um… Si usted juega con las mujeres, tajaré apagado su pene," J.D. said, impressed with his memory. Turk's smile disappeared and some of the color drained out of his face.

"Two semesters of middle-school Spanish, whatevah," J.D. said, putting on his best "cool-cat" expression, as Turk called it.

"Dude…" Turk said, his face shocked. "If I play with the ladies, she's gonna cut off my… you-know…?" He nodded his head down repeatedly. J.D.'s blood ran cold.

"Oh…" he said, his expression evaporating. "Turk, I promise you, if she comes back, I'm gonna give her such a talking-to!" Turk, still wide-eyed, staggered down the hall to the surgical ward.

_Time for some shut-eye._

Day 11 of Hospital Quarantine – 3:28 A.M.

When J.D. woke up, he felt the discomfort of a loaded bladder. As per protocol, he waddled down to the quarantined bathroom, a suited man ambling over to open the plastic flap for him.

He went in and struggled to undo his precarious suit. As he began to relieve himself, pain erupted in his pelvic region. He looked down. _Blood._

J.D. bolted upright in the on-call bed, panting. God it was hot. He ran his hands over himself, seeing the suit still clinging to his body. It seemed he was not yet impervious to the lurking fear that permeated the hospital. But he did have to go. His bladder felt swollen terribly, and a pulse of pain reminded him that he had not urinated since he had been tranquilized.

Shaking off the terror of the dream, he steadily eased himself out of bed, and retraced the same route he had followed in his dream. The same suited man helped him through the sterile chamber, and he walked in. Experiencing déjà vu, he struggled out of the suit. As he began, his pager rang. He enjoyed the relief a moment, leaning against the steel barrier of the stall, before he pulled the pager up to look.

"Damn," he said aloud. It was Leo again, coding. He quickly pulled the suit back over his head, zipping up the long crotch-to-neck zipper, and began walking out of the bathroom, forgetting to flush. He turned to the mirror, and though he was reluctant to look, it was like seeing the scene of a murder- you don't want to look, but you can't help yourself. He stepped closer to the mirror, and looked into his own eyes. Bloodshot.

A thin trickle of blood had dried underneath his nose, just above his lip.

"Oh my God." He jumped back, throwing open the door to the stall he had used. The same caramel-colored urine Mr. Jacobsen had produced was hanging stagnant in the toilet. His head began to swim. His feet went numb, and it felt as if his legs were melting through the floor.

"No," he said weakly, vertigo gripping him as the dizziness amplified. "No, please. Please." He stepped backwards on unsteady legs, determinedly making for the door. Colorful spots appeared in his vision, seemingly to metastasize, spreading rapidly across his field of view.

"I need help!" he said as loud as he could, but he couldn't even hear himself. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his legs buckled. He plummeted towards the Earth.


End file.
